Down The Gutter Drain
by Abby Ebon
Summary: Short one-shots and prompts about the brothers Winchester, most are SLASH, and some not. Here also be crossovers - BEWARE!
1. Big Brother: Sam's POV

**Big Brother**

_Abby Ebon_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

I think _everyone_ can see it but Dean.

How Dean's overprotective of me; yet follows Dad's orders to the letter. Even when the man is god- only- knows- where.

All that's left of Dad is his book, and Dean treats it like a freaking bible.

I don't have as great of a memory as Dean does. What I remember most of all is Dean following Dad's orders, worshiping the ground Dad walked on.

Dad never needed me to do any hunting- he had Dean as his right hand guy, and that was good enough for the both of them.

Sometimes I think Dean promising to keep me safe, somehow included an unspoken agreement between Dad and Dean.

Like if Dean kept me safe, Dad would only let Dean hunt with him- do the dangerous things.

Dad taught me how to fire a gun in high school. Dean has probably known how to fire a gun around grade school, or younger.

I only started taking the time to really notice things like that around high school.

Given that my memory isn't as trained as Dean's who I suspect Dad _trained_ to remember and react at a young age.

I have to lay awake at night and try think of a time when Dean didn't act like, well, Dad.

When did Dean _not_ know how to fire a gun?

When did Dean _not_ know about the monsters in the night?

When did Dean _not_ follow Dad's orders to a T?

What's worse is I_ can't_ remember a time when Dean was 'normal'. If he ever didn't know those things, didn't try his best to protect me, I can't remember it.

Dean was _always_ Dad's little warrior. Dean _always_ had to be the protector- the defender; _never_ the protected- the victim.

Worse he was my protector.

What I do remember was the constant moving; always being the new kid- and Dean always being the one to defend me from the bullies.

Only to bring the bullies wraith on himself, but that was alright with him, because he'd followed Dad's orders- he'd protected me.

I always felt guilty when he came back with bruises or a black eye- or worse. Still do.

Dad never made much fuss about Dean as he did when I was hurt. If I was hurt Dean had failed, and he lost credit in Dad's eyes- so Dean tried to make sure he never failed Dad.

Now that I'm older I know that what Dad made Dean do was wrong.

Dean was still young when Dad made him my protector- it shouldn't have been Dean's responsibility to take care of me. But it was.

Still is, probably always will be.

Because Dean is focused on taking care of me, protecting me, while we're fighting the monsters he doesn't watch his own back as well as he should.

Dean leaves himself open for attack, even if he doesn't realize it.

Maybe he does, and that's why he does it. So the monsters will go after him if they get an opening.

He fights better when he's alone, how do I know? Dean's not the only one who knows how to work a VCR. He doesn't know it, but Dad taped most of his early hunts- even the ones Dad wasn't on.

It's better then Jacky Chan; yet it hurts something in me to watch him in a fight.

I can't help but be drawn to it, to think it's happening right now; even when I know it happened years ago.

I know some things about those monsters- that some are older then Dean by _centuries_. I can't help but be awed that Dean faced them all and won.

That Dean is still alive to tell the tale.

Even if I know he won't tell me about any of it. Maybe that's another promise to Dad.

I wonder a lot about Mom, even if I barely remember her.

Wonder about why Dad is so hard on Dean- but let me grow up how I wanted.

Maybe he thought because Dean was older Dean was Dad's responsibility to train as a Hunter.

Because I was younger I got the 'easy' life.

Maybe Dad dealt with Mom's disappearance by telling himself if I remained 'innocent' of Hunter- life she'd come back.

Dad's very lifestyle prevented that; sure he tried to hide what he did from me, but Dean knew- and Dean can keep a secret with the best of them if he's awake- when he's asleep he talks.

I never let on that I knew, but I think Dean suspected. He never questioned me on it though; maybe he thought I had a right to know. He'll probably never answer me if I ask him- so I don't. It's enough that he's taking me with him.

Sometimes I think _everyone_ can see it but Dean.

See how sometimes - I'm jealous.

Jealous that Dean knows Dad, like he does -in both a Father-Son way; and a fellow Hunter way.

A way I never got a chance to know him.

At least now I'm learning about Dean in a way I never really realized was _there_ before.

Realized what was missing from our 'brotherly-bond'- the realization that he _is_ a Hunter.

How Dean is a 'Hunter', the part of him Dad trained and honed to a perfected warrior, how that part of him and the 'big brother' part of him coexist.

Tolerating each other just barely- the Hunter wanting to protect everyone; yet they are so alike at the same time- both want to protect me; whither that is because Dad made it that way, or just Dean at the core, I don't think I'll ever truly know.

Never the less –he is my big brother, he'll protect me with his life. But I've got to protect him too.

I've got to make sure that when he leaves his defenses down for the monsters to take advantage of; that they never get a chance to hurt him instead of me.


	2. Baby Brother: Dean's POV

**Baby Brother **

_Abby Ebon_

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Sammy, for someone so smart- can be naive.

He still seeks out the good in people, still trusts them and their opinions- even if we can fool them every time with flashy titles and fake ID's.

Well mostly fool them.

A person is smart- people are another story. Sammy's always been special; the visions are only a small part of that- that's why I've got to protect him from more then just the supernatural monsters.

Dad understood that.

I worry about the other Hunters- I mean there have to be others out there. Dad couldn't have been the only one. I'm not nearly as clueless as I pretend to be.

Sad fact is- if there are others- and if they are like Dad.

Dad, who fought against all supernatural things- even, at times- the dangerous human ones Sammy can _never_ know about.

If they, like Dad did- like I'm _supposed_ to, fight_ all_ supernatural things- not just the monsters…and if they find out about Sammy. Well we'll just keep traveling, I won't let them get the chance to catch up and hurt him.

I promised Dad I'd protect him.

I will, even if Dad didn't know Sammy would become something of the supernatural himself.

Although truthfully- at night- or while I'm driving down the road with Sammy in the passenger side… I wonder…I wonder if I did the right thing.

If taking Sammy and dragging him along with me is something Dad would have approved of.

Dad made me promise to protect Sammy. I can't do that when I'm fighting things that creep- in- the- night halfway across the country- and Sammy's in college.

If something happened to him- if something went after him…I would never get there in time- and if something happened to Sammy, never mind Dad- _I_ would never forgive _myself_.

When there was Dad and I- one of us would travel out to follow a lead- and the other would watch Sammy's back, even if he never knew it.

Another secret- another thing my baby brother won't find out if I can help it.

At the same time if he still was in college- I'd know he'd be out of the way. The monsters wouldn't go after him when he does something stupid- out of a desire to protect me or some victim.

Then again some Hunter could move into 'our' tuff- and find out about Sammy. That is if his abilities had manifested while I was away on some hunt. It's not unheard of. Dad and I did it all too often.

One of things Dad and I took leads about when Sammy was in college was Hunters that might have hid supernatural occurrences and buried them instead of getting rid of them.

The guilt never really got to you- they weren't normal, you never really saw them as human. Because most of the monsters took a human form and you just kind of got used to it after a while.

Then Sammy and his visions dropped on me like a ton of bricks- I had _killed_ people like him for less. Well, not really- because more often then not they'd killed someone before we got there- whither it was on purpose or accidental didn't really matter.

That put them, though they were 'human' in the same category as the monsters- at least as far as most Hunters were concerned.

Now it makes me wonder if some the monsters are as evil as Dad told me they were. Or if they were doing what came naturally to them.

I can't have doubts like that. I have to believe deep down that I'm doing the right thing. That protecting Sammy- my baby brother, is also the right thing.

I wonder if Dad knew what he was asking me- to protect Sammy.

Protect him from monsters in the night. Protect him from people that might hurt him. Protect him from Hunters who might have helped us otherwise.

Yet…I am taking him with me, which might put him in even more danger- by bringing him with me on hunts. Not just from the monsters either- the other unknown Hunters.

Yet I'll take him with me more then just to keep him safe- but to keep me sane.

I need him more then he'll ever know. Then I'll _ever_ let him know- if I can help it. Sam's my baby brother- and he's the only one who knows the _real_ me. Other then Dad- but even Dad has his delusions about what I am.

Not just the nice-guy, flirty, strong-and-silent-type mask.

Not just the muscle to the brains.

Not just the Hunter.

That all what Dad taught me to be- to seem 'normal' to a world that doesn't recognize- or even admit, the existence of the stuff of nightmares.

I can fool anyone- but not Sammy. He's seen me at my best and worst moments- and lived through it. With Dad you don't show him anything- you follow his orders and everything will be alright in the end.

It's easy to let him take control of a situation.

That's why he and Sammy don't get along- they both want some measure of control- and Sammy can't have that when Dad's ordering us- or mostly me, around.

I can live with that.

I can't live with how it rips this family apart around its already frayed edges when they fight. It hurts something deep inside, something I can't name but Sammy probably could.

If it comes down to it -it'll be Sammy I stand by in the end.

I promised Dad I'd protect him- and I will, even if Dad doesn't want me to anymore. Because I am a Hunter- and its Sammy and his strange visions I have to protect- even if it goes against what Dad taught me.


	3. Lie S4E1

**Lie **

Season 4: Episode 1 (SPOILERS!)

Abby Ebon

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

It was almost too damned ironic – in that sarcastically amusing sort of way Sam often accused him of, not the hell as a vacationing afterlife way – which Dean had lived through. Apparently for four months, which, contrary to what his brother thought, he did remember – he only had to have a moment alone and a mirror to look into before it started to bleed through. It didn't matter. Things had changed, and some things…some things had stayed the same.

His little brother had been a pawn of a demon high up the food chain. Still has something, probably, about him that didn't make him "normal". That didn't matter to Dean as much as he thought it would. There was, apparently, a God. It didn't seem to matter if he didn't believe in God, because God sure as hell believed in him. Or at least enough to send an angel (he didn't quite buy that bit, might be a fallen angel) to pull him out of the Pit.

Point was, he was "saved", and now God – of the angel – wanted a favor.

Dean could understand that, he was grateful enough to maybe go along with it. At least for a little while, as long as they didn't ask him to have "faith" or get religious; he was not warrior of God. Funny, though, that he had always thought God didn't need a hunter or a man to do things the way he wanted them done. Didn't need to ask, God as Dean understood it, was supposed to do whatever he did without anyone needing to help him do his work.

That scared Dean. Not that he might be needed to do his job – he'd been raised a hunter – it was all he knew how to do. It was for how long. Maybe he couldn't die. He'd been afraid, shaking in his boots ever since he'd dared slap a demon and gotten away with it. Power got to his head then, it had been a rush. Like he couldn't die…he'd almost wanted what had happened with burning eyes to kill him, just so he'd know what he was dealing with.

What sort of monster had yanked him from the Pit? God…or some sort of twisted Fallen Angel?

Maybe things had got so bad on Earth, because of what he and Sam had done opening Demon Gates, that cleaning up that mess needed a hand with, well, God. Dean didn't think so, somehow it all felt too personal. Why him? Why not some other poor sob?

Dean was afraid of that answer.

Maybe it had to do with Sammy.

His little brother had gotten better at lying, but Dean suspected that his special abilities had only gotten stronger. Would bet so, if betting likely was not frowned on by angels – fallen – or not.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Note; sorry, couldn't help but put a drabble down of my thoughts (to be interpeted as "Dean") after watching the newest episode. I don't know if this will continue.


	4. In The Beginning, S4E3

**Wishful Beginnings **

_By: Abby Ebon_

Summary: a _Supernatural, John/Dean/Mary, "In The Beginning" 'verse--does it count as incest if he hasn't even been conceived yet?_, prompt, from comment_fic.

* * *

Dean knows what he's thinking is wrong, but when has that ever stopped him? Mary has him pinned up against the wall, and Dean knows yes, she is – will be – his mom, but it doesn't change that her body has curves and dips in all the right places and she's behind him…and when hasn't that been a turn on? Dean would think it wouldn't be, doing what he does, but he long ago came to grips that he has the oddest kinks.

Mary smiles at him, believes him, because she knows how she's affected him. Then she goes and brings him home to her mom and dad - (Samuel and Deanna, really mom?) his grandparents - who died long before he was born. It's sort of like she's bringing home a date. That feeling doesn't go away at all after meeting her parents – his grandparents – but when they part ways, Dean tries to put it out of his mind.

Its funny how many things stay the same and are different, when Dean is confused; he still unconsciously goes looking for his dad. Or maybe John just finds him, because either way they are sitting at a booth and talking about Mary. John then says something that Dean would never have expected.

"You remind me of her, I guess, so it isn't all that strange that you are attracted to Mary. I've seen how you look at her, what I'm saying is that – I'm not threatened by you, I trust you- it's weird, but I trust you. I'm not going to get jealous of you and her, if, you know, something happens." John looks him in the eye, his voice is steady – he isn't joking, he sounds as serious as he's ever been – as Dean knows him best.

"Oh." Dean is blown away, and he can't get his head wrapped around it. Is John (because he can't think 'dad', anymore) offering to share? Does that sort of thing exist in this day in age as Dean understands it?

John's hand touches his thigh under the table, and Dean is sure he hasn't missed anything. Mary comes into the diner with her hips swaying and hair framing her face, she sees John and Dean and her face brightens up and she's beautiful and deadly, Dean always wanted to keep someone like her, but never got around to it. It seems he doesn't have to, because Mary found him. John gets up and Mary sits down fitting sung between them.

Dean laughs, because he's found a home (and maybe he can keep it), and hello: hey, Sammy, wherever you are, Mom is a babe, and I'm going to hell – again.


	5. Waiting Your Turn, JohnxSamxDean

**Waiting Your Turn**

_By: Abby Ebon_

Summary: a **Spn Sam/Dean/John High on sex pollen**, prompt, from comment_fic.

* * *

The first hint that all is not as it should be is Sam writhing in the backseat. It catches John's attention in the rearview mirror. Dean looks to his brother, and it's a puzzled look at first, because then Sam is whimpering a little under his breath. Pressing his hand to his crotch, and flushed, his eyes wide with panic and need. Dean sucks in his breath, quick, maybe guessing what's happened, but it's too late to put a stop to it, they can only ride through it and hope for the best. John stops the car as Sam unzips his pants, his hips wriggling provocatively to get out of them.

Sam looks to Dean, desperate, and Dean nods very slowly. He's willing to let his brother use him to find his release. They know that people who don't have sex, who are infected by the pollen, die. They all die, it's just a matter of when, if they die having sex, or die without giving into the craving. Dean isn't about to watch his brother die.

Sam slides over the seat and into Dean's lap as if he's done it before. Sam's hands are busy with Dean's pants; he pulls and tugs with youthful inexperience. In its own way, it's an enchanting sight. Dean ends up half helping him to get undressed, and then Sam is breathing hard, pressed skin to skin against Dean and shaking like a newly born colt.

Sam's cock is shoved into Dean's belly, weeping, and Sam clings to Dean, his hips thrusting from time to time, unable to help himself. John is trying not to look, because he's trained his boys to rely on each other to survive, come hell or the high waters of the second flood. They are only doing what they must, and John tries to draw his mind away, to think of how to fix this – because, yes, they'd dealt with the fairy, but apparently fairy's weren't like witches, their doings didn't die when they did.

Dean is holding Sam, letting him do what he wants, letting Sam use him to find some small measure of relief.

Sam lets out a shaky half cry, and John feels a tightening in his gut, and knows Sam had cum, but whatever moment of relief Sam found, it wasn't enough, he's still hard and still moving urgently against Dean with mewling pleas. Dean trembles, closing his eyes tight, when he opens them, he meets Johns eyes, and they say it all: forgive me, father, for I have sinned.

Suddenly, as if he saw some sort of forgiveness or permission in John's eyes, dean isn't just passively submitting to Sam's touch, his hands are resting on his brother's hips and he manhandles Sam into a more comfortable position. Sam makes a soft triumphant noise in the back of his tongue, as John sees Dean's cock rutting against the crease of his ass. Dean is thrusting mindlessly up against Sam, and John wonders if some part of Sam had had this planned all along.

John knows he can watch and desire all he wants, but he can't touch. Not yet.

Dean and Sam thrust against each other, tangled limbs and grunts as they cum so quickly, John doesn't think either realized they went at the same time. Sam slithers down Dean's legs, licking and suckling on Dean's cock and belly, taking their cum into his body to slow down the process, Dean is panting and spent, and when Sam turns to kiss John, he pulls his youngest son into the front seat for Dean to have a better view.


	6. Side By Side, SamxDeanxCas

**Side By Side**

_By: Abby Ebon_

Summary: a Supernatural, Sam/Dean/Cas, it feels right, prompt, from comment_fic.

* * *

It's always felt right to be at Dean's side. Sam can admit when he thinks he's screwed things up, and this, above all, is a screw up. Cas is standing by Dean (where Sam should be) when Dean looks at him and Sam knows that something is wrong between them.

"I don't trust you anymore." A part of Sam's heart breaks to hear his brother say that, and he wants to protest – to say it isn't his fault. That he can be trusted still. He didn't mean for any of this to happen. It did though, and Sam must face the facts of it.

"Just give me some time, Sam, that's all I'm asking." Dean says with a sigh, and Cas looks to Dean as if he's only now been clued in that something is wrong. Sam hates Cas right then, when Cas touches Dean on the shoulder and all the tenseness visibly drains from his shoulders, Cas lightens Dean's emotional burdens when Sam can only watch his brother seem to weaken under them. Hell changed Dean, made Dean realize what only a few people live to, that Dean can do anything, and the only thing that's stopping him is his own morals.

"We can work this out, Dean – I…" can change, Sam wants to say, but does not finish, because Dean is turning away, as if he can't look at Sam without hating him. Sam can't get the words out, for the first time in his life, he isn't sure if they'd make any difference to Dean.

"I want you to leave me alone. I'm not hunting with someone like you. I'd hunt you, Sam, if I didn't know you – and you …you sided with them, believed in them when you should have believed in me." Dean doesn't sound upset or sad, just tired, as if he wants something simpler then this life, and yet won't throw hunting aside because it's the only thing he knows.

For Sam, time passes grudgingly slow, and a week goes by with no word from Dean, only a phone call from Cas; it's a month before Sam sees his brother, and Dean comes reluctantly through his door, limping with blood running down his legs, Cas at his left side, Sam doesn't hesitate to go to support his right. It's where he belongs.

"What happened?" He demands of Cas, who was supposed to keep Dean safe - if Cas was taking Sam's place. After the words leave his mouth, Cas gives him a look, and he realizes he's wrong, Cas didn't take his place with Dean, he found his own. And, somehow, Sam realizes that Cas fits with him as well as he does with Dean, it doesn't matter what happened – it only means they'll deal with it together.


	7. Wrong And Right, DeanxJohnxSam

**Wrong And Right **

_By: Abby Ebon_

Summary: a Supernatural, **_Dean/John/Sam_**, aftermath of a hunt gone wrong, prompt, from comment_fic.

* * *

Dean was waiting for him on the couch, when John walks in, he sees that much – and that Dean had fallen asleep for the wait. John tries not to notice that Dean's hair is a ruffled mess, he just walks into the shower room and tries to forget it all under clean running water. He knew, in some part of his mind, that Dean would hear the shower and go to investigate. Some part of him wants his son, but he wants to be sure that Dean wants this too. It isn't right, but it isn't wrong – it's a need. John needs Dean because he isn't like what Dean is becoming, John is reserved and careful in whom he trusts while having sex. If he can not trust Dean, though, who can he trust? Dean is innocent in that wary care that John takes; he's becoming a carefree and sexual creature because there is so much of Mary in him.

Dean opens the bathroom door with careless regard for boundaries, and looks John up and down, as if he can read what happened in John's skin.

"A bad one…?" Dean asks him, head tilted to the side and his eyes full of sorrow that he can do no more then this, giving the physical comfort John craves. Dean doesn't know how rare his like is, how John loves him for such selfishness.

John touches Dean's messy hair when Dean comes closer, his cheeks flushed, and his hair already damp. John doesn't say anything, he rarely does, and Dean understands that and accepts it. John may feel as if he is using Dean for his own pleasure – but he will let Dean do it, he won't ask, he won't tell Dean what to do – not in this.

Dean drags John's hand to his lips, a quick tongue lavishing each of his fingers, sucking the fingers down to the last knuckle. John's hands are big, and Dean's mouth is little, and John closes his eyes as he sucks in a breath. Dean's eyes are darker and bluer when he looks again. Dean doesn't let his fingers go as he gets onto his knees, fingers hooked into his mouth, like some fish that John has caught. It should be ridiculous, but isn't.

Dean makes a soft, urgent sound, and John moves his hands out of the way as Dean presses his face against John's groin, inhaling, while John just thinks of breathing as he leans against the wall for strength. It's then that he sees Sammy, peeking in through the bathroom door, half obscured, John can see how wide Sammy's eyes are, and Sam is panting a little, licking his lips, hunger in his eyes as he looks at them.

John has to wonder how long his youngest son has been watching them. Then he doesn't have time to think as Dean's hot mouth licks at his balls, like a kitten with mike and cream. John gives Dean as much room as he can, and Dean rewards him with his throat. Dean is humming some hard rock beat that he so loves and John can appreciate his taste in music now, when Dean's singing it around his cock. Dean suckles at him, and John can't help thrusting his hips and though he isn't sure how Dean can breath, Dean takes it and swallows as John groans, his hand tangling in Dean's messy and shower damp hair.

Dean looks up at him, and his eyes are the blue of the ocean before a storm, his lips are pouting and abused, while he licks seed from his lips and chin. John has never seen anything like Dean, and Sam makes a soft whining sound, needy, and John pretends to not hear for a moment. Dean looks to the bathroom door, seeing that he left it half open – and cringes. Sam is long limbed and earnest even in his arousal, leaning against the wall.

"Kiss me?" Sam asks, coming in closer as if Dean is some wild thing that might bolt away from him. John smiles a little to himself as he recalls that Sam doesn't know this Dean at all. Dean is trapped between them now, and he looks as if he's had it all planed out from the start.


	8. Take Me With You, SamxJessicaxDean

**Take Me With You **

_By: Abby Ebon_

Summary: a Supernatural, Sam/Jessica/Dean, once upon a dream, prompt, from comment_fic.

* * *

Sam went through the door, his father's last yell of "don't come back" ringing though his ears, he shook with rage and didn't look back as it slammed behind him. Instead, he looked to his bother that still stood at his side, who'd for once in all of Sam's memory taken a side – and it had been his, Sam's – and that meant more then words could say to him. He wasn't alone, though he had hardened his heart at that risk for his freedom and education. They couldn't hunt what was in the dark for forever, or they'd die side by side or one by one, and to Sam it made no difference for in the end they'd be dead. He didn't want Dean or dad to die, and he didn't want to live this life until he died or got old.

"So where are we going, Sammy?" Dean asks, and Sam is all to aware that Dean always followed orders, and Sam had hated dad for a lot of reasons – but this perhaps most of all. Half a mile down the road and Sam still hasn't answered. It's then that Dean takes matters into his own hands, wiring a car and telling Sam to get in. Sam falls asleep to the sound of a motor and running smoothly over the asphalt, it's been his lullaby for more years then he wants to count.

Sam wakes up, and Dean is watching him, but Sam looks out the window and sees Stanford. What he's done all comes crashing onto him, he has never really had a home but where Dean or dad were, and now all he has is Dean and what is his big brother going to do while Sam is playing scholar?

"If you can get in, do it. I'll find work around here, got to be something I can do." Dean says as if he's read Sam's mind, or his face is that familiar to his big brother that Dean just knows him well enough to guess.

"Thanks, Dean." Sam doesn't know what else to say, and in the end it doesn't matter because Dean walks him into the front office and tells the secretary who his little brother is. Sam can't recall Dean ever looking prouder of him, and knows what he feels for Dean is something like brotherly love, and something else that's strange and deeper, harder to put a name to. So he doesn't, and he only comes close to knowing what it is when he meets Jess.

He knows that it's love, not love of father or family, (he doesn't include Dean, because, yes, Sam can admit it to himself if to no one else) but love like he never thought was real. Dean has rented them a off campus apartment, and though Sam doesn't know what Dean makes he has some idea of the hours Dean is taking, because Dean is gone before Sam gets up and (Sam hopes) comes in when Sam is asleep. There are signs that Dean lives with him, a damp towel he trips over in the morning, a half eaten pie in the fridge. It's the little things that keep Sam from worrying too much what Dean is doing.

Sam brings Jess home, and he does it on a weekend so Dean knows –because, for once on a weekend he is home. Dean doesn't protest this female invasion, and let's Jess ask questions and answers them, and it's Dean that tells Jess why Sam is living with him and what Dean was raised to do and Sam was seemingly born into, hunting. The first thing Jess asks is for Dean to teach her how to handle a weapon, and then it's to live with them. She says she feels safer, and neither brother says a word otherwise. They know, though, that there is more going on then there seems and all they have to do is to wait to find out what.

Jess starts wearing skimpy things, Dean starts watching her. Sam notices that he likes it, watching Dean and Jess. It's when Jess kisses Dean while Sam is in the room and watching that Sam knows this is more then some passing thing, it's more, it's love.


	9. Try, Try, Try Agian, CasxDean

Try, Try, Try Again

_By: Abby Ebon_

Summary: a Supernatural; Castiel/Dean; Castiel tries several ways to tell Dean how he feels for him, and jumps back in time when Dean's reactions are... poor., prompt, from comment_fic.

* * *

The first time is sort of an accident - if angels can make mistakes, which, of course – they obviously can. Castiel is watching Dean, head tilted to the side, eyes on what Dean is doing, taking apart and cleaning his .22 auto, when Castiel says it.

"I can protect you, always." Dean tenses all over, and Castiel realizes he's said the wrong thing – that he's implied that what Dean is doing is useless, because obviously Castiel can do his protecting of Dean better then any mortal, that a angel of the lord is a weapon of better making then any man made thing – it's useless to compare the two, and therefore Dean is useless and outdated too. It's the last thing that Castiel means; for all that it is what he has accidently implied.

"I'm a hunter, this is what I do, and I do it well, and I don't need you to be looking over my shoulder protecting me." Dean's blue eyes are glaring at him, hating him a little for what Castiel is and what Dean can not be. Castiel let's that be the last thing he says, as he takes a breath and tries again. His wings unfold and snap back, and Castiel is standing again, determined to do this right, as Dean is getting out of the black Impala, only to come face to face with Castiel who tries once again.

"Let me save you." Castiel asks, and Dean is raising his eyebrows and snorting, shaking his head as if he's disappointed by some logic only Dean can grasp, and Castiel feels his frustration building that he is unable to do this one thing right…but he can't help but hear Dean's words before fleeing.

"I save people all the time; I don't need you saving me and my soul." There are days that Castiel feels that he can say nothing right, and this is one of those days, one of those days that he wishes he could just say nothing and let things be – but he can not, he must say this one thing, and Dean must understand, before Castiel lets it rest.

"I can help, if you let me." Castiel says as Dean is moving his stuff into the hotel room, with jerky movements that tell him that he's feeling again the keen loss of Sam and that Dean hates fighting like this with his brother, as it tears him up inside, he is still being stubborn about it and not letting Castiel – who needs nothing but for Dean to understand, help him with the weight of bags that are his burden.

"Don't need help, I've got a partner, and that's Sam –only Sam, he isn't perfect, but he is family, and –well, at least he does better at playing human then you'll ever be." Dean says, and if Castiel flinches, at least he does not sigh. Wings brush Dean's shoulders, and Dean never notices as Castiel takes himself further back, though his mind touches upon an old rhyme, when you fail, try, try, try again.

"I have feelings for you. I care about – love – you." Castiel blurts out as Dean steps out of his shower, a towel around his waist, it's a ritual that Dean and Sam (who is not here) have, they come in, get a hotel room, unload the car, shower, then clean their weapons to maintain them. And maybe it's the damp skin fresh from the shower that has softened Dean into listening. Or maybe the damp has helped Dean put all the pieces together of what Castiel has been saying all day, but Dean only hears now.

"Well, why didn't you say so before?" Dean asks, smirking, and when Castiel kisses him, his lips are warm and welcoming.


	10. Zombie Kill Of The Week,XOVER Zombieland

Zombie Kill Of The Week

_By: Abby Ebon_

Summary: a Supernatural/Zombieland, Dean Winchester/Tallahassee, "that ain't the best zombie kill of the week...", prompt, from comment_fic.

* * *

Tallahassee was a hunter, that being a hunter of the supernatural and things that went bump in the night under your bed and would kill you sooner then look at you - before he settled some and started to raise Buck. He imagined that Buck would have been a hunter too, one day, if he would have had the chance. Yet he wouldn't have raised Buck while hunting, that lesson had been learned, because there wasn't a hunter alive who hadn't heard of the Winchester brothers. Tallahassee should have expected this, of course they would have survived a zombie world ending event.

Tallahassee had parked for the night at a bar, had considered getting drunk. That was before he walked in and found himself pressed up against the wall, a sawed off shotgun under his jaw – Tallahassee's wide eyes and choked off words were enough of a hint to his not being infected, he thought. He'd heard rumors that the Winchester boys (who'd certainly grown up some) were the sort to shot first and ask questions later, or – at least – one of them was.

"Dean, no – Dean, he's human!" Sam yelped, (because if the one pinning up against the wall was Dean as it certainly sounded like, then the other had to be Sam, of course, the boys always traveled as a pair, it was how they'd survived, and how they'd been raised) and it was then that Tallahassee took in the time to see that Dean wasn't in the best of conditions. He shook and blood was getting all over the place.

"Bitten?" Tallahassee grunted the question past the metal under his throat.

"No – hunter…?" Dean asked, tone sharp and not to be ignored. He had a one track mind, and his mind was on Tallahassee and protecting his baby brother, and Tallahassee knew enough not to ignore the question.

"Yes." He gagged as the hard metal was taken away from his wind pipe and Dean staggered off him, nearly falling to the floor he'd bled out on, and he knew that the weight he'd felt, the hard edges and dangerous intent, had been Dean, all Dean – and he'd been pinned and thoroughly threatened by a man near half-dead. Tallahassee could admit to being a little bit impressed.

"Easy, Dean, it's alright, we're safe. It's alright…come on, sit down." Sam urged, moving Dean with his long limbs and taller body, manipulating his brother into sitting and staying and maybe (if he was lucky) healing up.

"What did this?" Tallahassee asked, because if it wasn't a zombie, and Sam had gone into the thick of things with Dean – how had Dean ended up being the one on the shorter stick? But then, Dean was so obviously protective of Sam to the point of it being possession, but maybe that was because the younger hunter was so out of it. Sam seemed just as protective of his brother, and Tallahassee waited until Sam had gotten Dean sitting before expecting any sort of answer.

"Angel, sort of…." Dean muttered, and Sam glanced to Tallahassee to see what the elder made of that.

"No joke?" Tallahassee tried to wrap his mind around angels and demons and the Winchesters in the middle of a ruined world of zombie-making, and couldn't quite manage it. He trusted them to know what they were talking about, though, and Dean laughed until he choked. Tallahassee liked him, and he realized this when a zombie lurched out of the shadows behind the bar, drawn in by the scent of Dean's blood.

When the zombie went up in flames before Tallahassee could give warning, before he could even bring up his gun from the floor Dean had knocked it down to. A man appeared from no where, and he wore a long coat and a fierce expression, all Tallahassee could say was.

"That ain't the best zombie kill of the week..." Dean started to laugh again, and Tallahassee liked it more then he thought he should.


	11. Twice Shy, Cas,XOVER Doctor Who

_Twice Shy  
_

_By: Abby Ebon_

Summary: a Doctor Who/Supernatural, Ten/Castiel, the wreckage of our lives, prompt, from comment_fic.

* * *

Castiel has met the being known as the Doctor twice.

"You will go among them and spread discord." These are his Orders, and then – when Castiel is young, he thinks nothing of following them. His brothers fear that if they do not triumph at the end of this War, there will be no more of them. They have allied themselves with monsters and manipulators, and perhaps if Castiel were older he would see enough to make connections and find the irony, he does not.

Time Lords are older then Castiel's own people, they who are called Angels, for they have forgotten any other name. It is the Time Lord known as the Doctor that Castiel finds himself standing beside when all is said and done and the Time War rages without end or beginning around them. They are within the Void of Time, and here they can not touch or see or bring harm to any but themselves.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asks, as he runs with the Doctor who is serious and full of pain inside.

"Ending it, ending all of it…." The Doctor struggles, for he is in pain and his face is drawn and lined, Castiel feels pity though he knows he should not. He does not offer help, for the Doctor does not trust him, and Time Lords are telepaths and if Castiel touches the Doctor, he fears the Doctor will know and hate and judge him. It should not matter what the Doctor thinks or feels about him, but it does. It frightens Castiel, this knowledge.

"No you must not!" Castiel cries out into the Void, for he has so few brothers but the Doctor…here, they are safe, but the Time Lords are not, the Time Lords had taken the burden of putting the Time Wars on their own world, and the Void is linked their, and if they close the Void of Time here…it will destroy all of golden Gallifrey and the Time Lords…they will be not scattered across space and time, but lost. Without them, without that mental bond that is like static between Time Lord and Time Lord, the Doctor will be forever lost, forever lonely.

The Doctor does not listen to Castiel, does not even hesitate, yet Castiel is aware that the Doctor knows what he is doing, killing his own people, sending everyone into the Void of Time. This is the last of the Time Wars fought by the Time Lords, and it is inaptly named.

Castiel holds onto the Doctor's hand as he does it, and when it is done, the Doctor turns to him and there is knowledge of what all of what Castiel is in his eyes. A traitor to their friendship, a betrayer to his people, and the Doctor let's his hand go even as Castiel knows he is forgiven for all of those sins by this Time Lord who has lost so much, his tears streaming down his face. Castiel flees, but is aware always that the Doctor could have stopped him, but did not.

In the second time they met, the Doctor waits for him.

"Castiel...?" The Doctor says in the dark, searching, and Castiel is found – but his is not alone. A light switches on, and Sam and Dean meet the last of the Time Lords with guns pointed and eyes narrowed in suspicion, but the Doctor only laughs softly and shakes his head. There is something morbid and closed about him.

"Cease this." Castiel says to Sam and Dean, his eyes on the Doctor who opens his arms and shrugs, defenseless; welcoming a death that the Winchesters may bring him.

"Let them try, it would do no one any harm. I can not be hurt now more then what I have been…" The Doctor rambles, and though it is the Doctor, Castiel sees him as being younger then what he has ever looked. It is the way of Time Lords, to not die – to save them selves by regeneration of their own ancient genetics – yet their own mind is whole within them. The younger the Time Lord looks, Castiel knows, the less he can regenerate safely. One day a time will come when the Doctor will die, but it is not this day.

"You are no Angel; you could not survive a death wound given by mortal means. Have you come to see the end of this war, Doctor? To save them… again…?" Castiel asks softly in warning, because he does not want the Doctor to say no, that he has come to see the end and it is forever. He does not want the Doctor to have changed so utterly.

"Does it surprise you that I would be here when there is need of me?" Tilted head and stormy eyes regard Castiel, who says nothing. He has looked for the Doctor on this planet for centuries, why he took exile here, to watch and wait. He does not know what side he is now on. He does not know if he has been here for so long waiting for this day that is the end of the world, or for the Doctor to save him again.

"Once, we were enemies, Doctor. I can not forget that you may hate me out of spite." It chills him, that possibility. The Winchesters are silent and deadly at his side, they watch and listen and learn, as he had all these years – but he has always been alone, and so too has the Doctor.

"I don't hate you, Castiel. Once, in the War That Never Was, there were those who wanted to control all of time and beyond, wanted to manipulate life and lives 'for the better'; and then there were those optimists who vowed that always life would find a way and did not need watching or guiding or Gods or Demons or Angels. It was a hard lesson to learn, but learn it you did. I do not know if it was worth winning, anymore." Yet those beings existed, and were terrified that one day they would be cast aside by life, unneeded and unwanted as the Time Lords themselves. The Doctor won, and he is now the last of the Time Lords, and he says it was not worth the winning. Castiel has always disagreed for in that Time War, he learned what it meant to live a life that he took for granted.

Now it is that Dean and Sam look to him as if they do not trust him so much as when they knew nothing of his history.

"Will you help me now, at the end of this world?" Castiel asks, and he feels young and needy again. Perhaps he has always been so, but been waiting for the Doctor all along.

"Not the end, Castiel, there is never ever a 'the end' like in a story book. This is only a turning point, a birth, but I will help to make it easier, to take away the hurt." Perhaps that is all it is now, all it ever was, the whole of Castiel's life are turning points, and it is only worth the Doctor's while to see these two of them.


	12. Bar Room Blow Job, XOVERHarry PotterxSam

Bar Room Blow Job

Harry Potter/Sam Winchester

Sam is fairly sure that he is drunk. There's a beautiful man that's just walked into the bar, and he's got black as witching hour midnight hair and eyes so green that plants would die of envy. He's wearing robes too, but that's alright seeing as how it's midnight on Halloween. It's the first Halloween that Sam has known away from Dean, and Dad – but mostly Dean. Sam knows he isn't taking the isolation well. He shifts in his seat, thinking about leaving; when he looks up those captivating green eyes are watching him. Sam isn't really aware of the stranger approaching him, not until smooth fingers brush his cheek.

"Hello there." His voice is like a burbling spring, fresh as English tea.

"Hi, uh…" Sam thinks about scooting back, away – but those eyes and those fingers draw him closer: Sam is breathing in what oxygen the beautiful man above him is exhaling. His breath smells of wild grown lilies and a breaking storm: Sam inhales it. Lips twitch, almost a smile – almost a frown.

"Harry." _His _beautiful stranger has a name, and Sam will treasure it for fantasies later.

"S-Sam..." He manages to get out, just to keep those eyes focused on him.

Harry takes a seat at the booth – his booth, and Sam sees blue jeans beneath the robes and a shirt that's see-though gold. Harry's chest is smooth and defined, and his nipples make Sam's throat go dry.

"What are you dressed as?" Sam asks, just for something to say. Harry leans closer, licking the shell of Sam's ear.

"What I am." Harry says with a smile that makes Sam's joints ache to move – to get closer, to kiss those lips, to feel the prickly sensation of his facial hair and the scent of his skin. Sam keeps his distance, and breaths in that scent that calls to him – but he thinks. Thinking is both his greatest disadvantage with girls, Dean would say – and his best weapon in the business of hunting, where creatures that leave the trails and traces can be anything and it all is like a big puzzle you have to solve to survive. So, Sam _thinks_, and he stays still. Danger tugs low in his belly, the danger in this – it's beneath the seduction and need and smell and lust and want to taste…

"W-what are you?" Sam cuts his own thoughts off with the words, and Harry blinks at him, slow and deliberate.

"Tonight?" Harry asks, with a tilt of his head that brings his lips even closer to Sam's neck. Sam feels his pulse jump and his breathing speed up. He doesn't know it but Harry watches carefully as a drop of sweat from his hair tucks shyly into the turtleneck sweater Sam is wearing.

"Yours." Harry purrs the word, licking the trail of sweat on skin. Sam catches his breath; it stutters and starts like a poorly cared for engine. He feels Harry's lips curve into a smile against his skin. There is only one word Sam can think or feel to say to that.

"Yes." Sam groans, neck arching and his body feeling heavy and limp on the plush booth seat. He feels too alive, every nerve seeming to awaken just from being near Harry.

Harry growls against his body, feeling that release – that submission.

Sam can't help but do nothing more then watch as Harry slinks down in the booth, fingers finding and playing with his zipper, running it down, unbuttoning the metal oval and slithering his hand inside Sam's pants. Harry makes a noise like a groan and a gasp, and his head bows over Sam's crouch. Sam looks down at that black head and can't think of what Harry is doing – what Harry is going to do next?

A wet burst of heat and need touch Sam right at the tip of his cock. He bites his lip so not to make a sound, afraid that Harry will stop. _Is he serious?_ Sam thinks, and when that tip of tongue touches cock again, sliding from tip to base, where tongue tangles with wiry public hair. He can't help but gasp, hips jerking up eagerly. Harry pauses and looks up at him, green eyes glittering in amusement. _Tease._ Sam thinks, and that tongue creeps out to lick at lush lips. With no words but those expressive eyes, Harry promises more to come.

Harry bows his head over Sam's lap, like a worshiper at alter, with that feeling of awe and reverence in the air. Harry's lips set around his tip, sucking at bitter pre-cum, Sam can't help but spread his thighs like some obscene offering for the divine. Slick tongue slides and swirls around him like a living current of pure sensation. Sam is aware that he's panting and gasping and moaning and begging and pleading – he doesn't know what he's saying, but he'd say anything to keep Harry. Sam bucks his hips and Harry takes it, those lips curling over Harry's teeth so Sam can fill the cavern of his throat and touch his tonsils. Harry groans – or makes some kind of noise – and it fills Sam up, vibrating up and down his spine. Sam cries out, his heart flying out of his chest – souring into heaven – it feels like dying, like Sam can't get any better in life then right here and right now and he wants this forever. Harry licks cum off his lips and gives Sam a kiss.

Sam returns it, burns with it.

"What are you?" Sam asks with wonder and awe, his mind gone with his heart.

Harry smiles and his eyes fill up with shining light, like tears – vibrant and very much alive. He isn't human. Sam couldn't feel cold or fear even if he wanted to. What he wants is right in front of him: Harry.

Harry traces a finger from his eye to chin. As if he trails the path of Sam's past (or future?) tears.

"I am the last." Harry says softly, full of sorrow.

"Last?" Sam asks, wants to say last _what? _But does not – he'll know soon enough, if he only waits.

"Wizard." Harry whispers against his lips.

Sam shudders underneath him, as Harry swallows his gasp, his words, with a kiss. Sam knows what Harry is now, understands – when God created Heaven he made Angels, when God created Earth he made Wizards.

"They all died out, how?" Are you here -_alive_, Sam says when Harry lets him.

Harry curls against him, tucks his body against Sam, they fit together in angles and length.

"The end is coming, He says." Harry closes his eyes, at ease – at peace, even as his words bring Sam's thoughts to a turbulent storm. Sam does not ask who _He_ is, for there can only be one He. All his life Sam has prayed to God, and wondered if anyone – anything heard, or _cared_. Now he knows, and wonders how much was heard in Sam's prayers.


	13. Hello, Harry : XOVERHarry PotterxCas

Hello, Harry

FatesShadow83's prompt(s): HP/Supernatural, HP/Castiel, Instead of summoning the Horseman of Death, Lucifer's ritual summons Death's Master.

"And who are you?" It's a purr that rumbles like oncoming thunder. Harry looks up to see him, a man that is not merely a man. Harry has enough experience with souls (well, one soul, Tom's: but Tom had split his soul) and possession to know that the soul of the mortal body isn't the being speaking to him. Harry tilts his head, as if seeing for the first time the mass of bodies ringing where they stand.

"Why would you do this?" Harry asks his own questions first, and feels he has the right to, and as he felt the tugging in his gut to summon him here, feels his questions are by right of more importance. Dead blue eyes regard him, measuring.

"To summon the pale Horsemen…." Harry feels the wand, like a cane, between his fingers. His black ring blinks with white, and his shoulders shrug under a cloak that shimmers like starlight. The man who isn't a man at all sees these things as well, as if for the first time, and he blinks, and smiles – slowly, licking his lips as if eager.

"Ah, I see my apologies are in order. Death is like a grim black dog to be leashed, least he be at your throat with teeth tearing into you instead of the enemy. You have Lucifer's thanks for your coming so swiftly, Master of Death." The being in the body of a broken man, does bow, with flare. For the bloodline of the first Horsemen is magnificent, and survives to breed glory and immortality. It is worth an angel's bow, it is worth worship – and has been before the days of Noah: for to be the Death's Master, Harry was his direct blood descendant.

"What?" Harry asks of Lucifer, baffled, but Lucifer takes it to mean to speak swiftly of what he wants, and speaks plainly.

"Are you not the last of Death's bloodline upon this Earth? Are you not alone? You should not be, Master of Death. It is a lonely and terrible thing, to be lonely among these lesser…things. God would not want you to suffer their company. God creates and destroys, and it is time for this world to end. Summon up Death, and have him lead the Horsemen." Lucifer knew full well that Death could be summoned up and asked to do a task, but that was the extent of what could be predicted: Death's Master was a lore that the likes of Lucifer had never hoped to set eyes upon. They often were hidden in plain sight, watchers – not doers. When they died, they were the Reapers. This boy though, was yet young.

"I see." Harry narrowed his eyes and tapped his finger against the wand-cane.

"Take all the time you need." Lucifer insists, sensing that Death's Master thinks him hasty. Harry tilts his head in agreement, and is gone like a sigh.

Harry Potter does sigh when he reappears.

"One mad man after another, hmm?" Death turns to look upon his descendent, smiling slow and with memory far older then the Earth. Harry bows his head to his elder in agreement, knowing well that Death serves his own mad man, though most know him by the name of God. Such are Harry's ancestors, so old that their mere names hold power to sway worlds into command. Harry could call them by other names, but that would not change who they were – who he is.

"Lucifer, I think." Harry looks over a still lake, with no storm brewing above. If the world is to end, there should be a storm to give warning, that there is not gives him hope, and his smile is bright when Death's laugh fills up the air.

"Ah, that boy! Much like your Tom, I do think." The same ambitions: that same thirst for renewal through a final damning destruction. It would, after all, be to much work for such as them to rebuild the world, as such of the powers God and Death had done. Over and over, so much so, that no one saw the power of it, they took it for granted: as physics, as science and nature.

"I would rather meet someone not so mad, is there no one attracted to me in that like?" If any would know, it would be Death.

"I think you would be surprised today." Death leans back against the dead bark of the park bench. He snaps his fingers, and an angel appears. He staggers out of thin air, blinking as if woken from sleep abruptly. Angels, of course, do not sleep.

"This one I brought back for you." Death says easily, confiding and confident, though the angel's eyes are wide with shock at finding this information out.

"What would I do with him?" Harry leans forward, looking curiously at the angel, as if there is something worthy of attention to be seen plainly. His chin rests on his hand as he looks; he winks at the baffled angel: he is rather adorable, in a too pure way.

"Whatever you want: his life –and death - is yours to command." Death waves his hand, as if parting himself from that responsibility. Harry takes it up, as easily as nodding.

"What is your name?" Harry eyes his angel, who looks nervous.

"Castiel." He says, wary. Harry looks to Death, who blows him a kiss – hinting. Harry sighs and rolls his eyes, standing up he is shorter then the angel in front of him.

"Show me this world, what is its worth? Perhaps Lucifer is right, but perhaps… he is wrong." Harry extends his hand, and after a glance to him – and then to Death – Castiel does not hesitate to take the hand offered to him. In a blink, they are gone, and Death's small smile is divine.

Castiel, being Castiel, takes Death's Master to see the Winchester's who first fascinate him. He gives no explanation to the brothers, who sit side by side in a moving car: Harry and Castiel take the back seat.

"These are they who would be vessels, of Lucifer– and that of Michael." Castiel nods first to Sam and then to Dean. It is Dean who slams on the brakes, seeing in the rear view mirror a boy he's never seen the likes of before.

"Castiel!" Sam says, turning to point a knife toward Harry. Harry blinks to see it. It's glyphs ring, singing in joy.

"What the hell! Who are you?" Dean demands, his eyes narrowed upon the two.

"I would not do that. That knife knows its makers blood." Harry warns, while the knife sings and the glyphs gleam. It's as if the knife is showing off. Harry smiles to see it, he reaches out fearlessly to touch it, and the knife – with just that bare touch - cuts him quick and clean, the blood greedily dunk up by the knife – it's glyphs as gold as that shining blood had been. Sam is very pale.

"You made this knife?" Sam demands, knowing he had gotten it from Ruby's hands. A demon carrying a demon-killing blade had seemed strange to him, so he had always wondered how it had come to be.

"I did not say that." Harry looks away, out the window, seeming bored.

"Death's Master." Castiel simply says in answering Dean, now that Harry is so obviously disinclined to speak. He would not dare interrupt such as Harry.

"Holy hell…" Dean mutters, and catches the envy green eyes glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. His lips are quirked in a smile that gives Dean the chills. He knows he's out of his depth, and remembers something like those eyes winking at him in Hell.

"Lucifer did mean to summon Death, but those that would deal now with Death must first go through me." Harry smiles fondly into empty air, as if he can see Death in the distance. Perhaps he does, or not, for Death can not hide from his Master.

"You should thank him when next you see him, in making the mistake." This Harry addresses to the brothers, who trade glances. Harry ignores their speculation.

"Yeah, we'll do that…." Dean mutters, though Harry doubts with reason that he ever will.

"Lucifer asks of me to let loose Death upon Earth, to call the Horsemen to ruin, to begin again anew." Harry looks again out the window, as if seeing what Lucifer would ruin.

"You can do that." Sam doesn't doubt it, but he wants it plain and simple.

"Sam…." Castiel warns, too late, for he ceases to speak as Harry turns to Sam Winchester.

"I am Death's Master." Harry blinks at Sam- seeing the confusion there, but it as if he can not put it more simply or in another way. It is what it is.

"What if I bleed you with this knife that _likes_ your blood so much?" Harry's eyes flick to it, there is sorrow in his eyes.

"It will do what it is meant to do. By a Master's hands it was built for a final sacrifice –willing or nay. If I were to be that sacrifice, Death would be let loose. Not even the Lord Maker God could leash Death. I am to be the last of Death's Masters. In short, you would _serve_ Lucifer well to go through with your threat." Sam carefully puts the knife away his own eyes are wide, under the watchful eyes of Dean and Castiel: as if they expect the knife to leap by itself for Harry's throat.

Harry seems not to care.

"What will you do?" Castiel asks, soft – for both Winchesters are speechless, waiting and watching. They are also tense, for they know that Death's Master would be their last enemy – if he is to be an enemy.

"Let it be as it is. I see no fatal flaw in God's creations." Harry's white stone ring did blink black. His shoulders slumped in relief, body going lax against the backseat, he is still and pale, but he breathed. He slept. Castiel gathered that limp and frail body up in his arms, and for the first time the brothers noticed how small Death's Master truly was.

"He's a boy." Sam is shocked at that realization.

"Yes." Castiel agrees, with bowed head.

"How old is he?" Dean asks, gently.

"He is new born, last born. If the son of God is Jesus, this is the son of Death." Folded and cradled into Castiel's arms, Harry's face rolled toward them, eyes open and the lightning bolt scar vivid red against his pale skin.

"My name," Death's Master says defiantly, "is Harry."

They had, after all, never asked – and it was time proper introductions be made.


	14. A Gift That Keeps Giving: XOVERHarryxCas

A Gift That Keeps Giving

kalerya's prompt: Death gives Harry an angel: want would Harry do with such interesting gift?

At midnight, Harry opens his eyes to see Lucifer laid down beside him in his bed.

"Now, correct me if I am wrong, but you and I, we had a deal." His voice is calm and pleasant, and his smile is sincere. It is a well done mockery of humanity. Harry smelt him, the reek of dying human flesh, burnt out, used up.

"I am no demon, I do not make deals." Lucifer sighs, waving his hand in agreement. He lays unafraid on his back, belly and throat exposed as Harry sits up to look down upon him. It's just as well, for between them the line is clear which is prey and which is predator.

"Yes, yes, I know that, do you think I don't? Who is, after all, the father of demons?" Lucifer is no proud father, for he sneers down at his own (human gloved) hands as if they are dirty. He does not see human hands; he sees himself and his own doing.

Harry snorts, insensitive to a sympathetic devil.

"I _like you_, you know? You've got what you call it – spirit. Which is very strange, considering: _you know who_." Harry looks unflinching into Lucifer's eyes, which makes the devil flinch. Apologetic and seductive he looks up at Harry again though bedroom eyes. They both know Death was who Lucifer _meant_, but again both know that Tom Riddle's split soul is the only _you know who_ whom Harry had – for friend's sake – never said the name of, or Voldemort. In the end it had not done them – or him – any good.

"Low blow..?" Lucifer sing-songs playfully as if already forgiven, he never hesitates to reach out to touch Harry on his knee.

"I can go lower." It's a promise and threat by the coin toss.

"I see nothing to reap." It's a reminder, that Harry will one day die and be a Reaper, which all demons fear. To which Angels bow.

"Are you blind?" Lucifer narrows his eyes, but Harry's glasses are on the bedside table top.

"You will not tempt me." Harry's smile is openly mocking, and Lucifer hisses. He moves more quickly then Harry can react to, springing up from lying down, and tackling Harry onto the ground. Harry closes his eyes as he feels fingers close around his throat.

"With your death you would _serve me_." Harry opens his eyes, and Lucifer is very still – Harry is smiling.

"My life is not yours to end." Green eyes flash black, and Lucifer finds himself pinned to the ceiling, Harry looking up at him.

There is a knock on the door, and without asking, the Winchester brothers enter. They carry weapons, and among the weapons, the knife that sighs for Harry's life blood. It is not the best choice, or tells more deeply their intentions then Harry has suspected. The first is more likely then the last. It is, after all, the only weapon to kill demons. It was made for something more and better, and resents the taint of another's life blood.

"Are you alright?" Sam asks, focusing on Harry, small and huddled naked among sheets on the floor as if flung there.

"I am fine." Harry glances upward and the brother's eyes follow.

"Hello there." Lucifer greets, naturally polite. Sam's eyes widen.

"Castiel!" Dean calls for the angel, naturally he must have been listening, for he appears most swiftly. Harry wonders if it is a sign of how often the brother's are in danger and Castiel must watch over them. When Dean jerks his head upward, Castiel looks, and pales.

"How did _you_ get up there?" He asks darkly, as if Lucifer planned it.

"How do you think? I couldn't keep my hands to myself and he put me up here. Rather poor taste given _their_ history, wouldn't you agree, little brother?" Lucifer's grin is wicked, and he winks.

"What history." Harry demands, noting that Sam is shaky, that Dean's jaw is clenched tight.

"Oh, well, their mommy dearest, Sammy's girl, all got sacrificed, looking just like this." Lucifer drags a finger across his belly, opening it up; blood rains down on Harry's upturned face. They look away, and when they look back Lucifer is gone. Only Harry had seen him go, and hadn't stopped him.

His fingers are clenched tight in the white and red smeared sheets.

Harry bows his head, and speaks.

"I hadn't realized he meant me to hurt you. I thought only that he meant to kill me." Harry blinks and his black eyes are green, and there is no blood anywhere to be seen.

"Hey, come on kid, how could you know? Give yourself a break, you didn't do anything but defend yourself." Dean asks it of Harry softly, rubbing Harry's back and kneeling next to him. It strikes Sam that Dean is good at it, at getting people – kids - to relax, and why not? It's not like Sam hadn't given Dean plenty of practice. He feels guilty and stupid for it, but nods when Harry snakes a sly glance at him, to be sure.

"Are you brothers?" Harry doesn't ask it of Sam or Dean, but of Castiel. Who shakes his head in a sharp negative: something about how Harry holds himself relaxes. Castiel sits on Harry's other side, easily picking him up and bringing him into his lap.

All is well that ends well, but – just the same – it's the last time Harry sleeps alone. And the last time they buy double rooms: double beds, Dean joked sometime later that night, are meant to have two. So Sam and Dean share - like they've been doing since they were little. It's cheaper, and a sure thing they won't wake with Satan on the ceiling. While neither Castiel nor Harry say anything, Harry accepts and expects it when Castiel follows Harry into his bed.

Castiel though, behaves as if it couldn't be any other way.

"So how much of it is true?" Sam asks, referring to the bible he holds, and asking it of Harry. Sharp green eyes look to him.

"How am I to know? I was born after you." Sam can't help but laugh, because it's true. It's easy to forget that Harry is so young, yet speaks with Lucifer as if an equal or greater, and sits calmly beside Castiel. It's all so very strange, things like that shouldn't happen in the modern day, to someone born after Christ.

"Okay, how did you become Death's Master?" Sam asks, teasingly, as if Harry might not know this either. As if Harry could forget.

"I willingly took up the three Deathly Hallows: this ring, this cloak, this wand - and then I died a hero's sacrifice. Death brought me back. Death told me I would be the last Death's Master, the last child born of his bloodline." Sam shifts, comfortable with the weight of it, the fact that both he and Harry were born different, were chosen by powers greater then they for a destiny they did not know. The difference was, Sam wasn't trapped by it, and Harry was. Harry couldn't run away and did not have a choice that he could make again and change things.

"There is always a choice." Harry reads something, his expression or his thoughts.

"What about Cas?" Dean asks, butting in, Sam had thought him put half to sleep with research.

Sam looks to him, reluctantly, warningly, but Dean goes on recklessly.

"We were told Castiel died, there were bits of him, bone, meat, blood, teeth." Dean knows no demon could survive that sort of messy parting from their host, and it does not make sense that an angel could.

"Castiel died, Death brought him back for me, gave me his life and death to choose." Dean doesn't know how he feels about _that_, that the whole world rested with Castiel being some kind of test for Harry. Castiel by John's teachings, died, and should have stayed dead. It's interesting, the difference the father makes, that Death taught Harry to let the world go on through bringing back the dead, and John would let lay what died.

He doesn't know what it says about mortality, about humanity, about…everything. But Dean does thing that they are lucky, just this once, to have a powerful friend rather then another enemy.

"Why haven't you freed him, given him his own choices?" Sam asks softly, looking about the room as if he expects Castiel to show himself. He's gotten the feeling that since Harry joined them, the angel has been watching over them, hovering just out of sight.

"He has made them, to bring me here, to stay by your side and mine. These are his choices. I can not make them for him." But clearly Harry goes along with them, if he does not – exactly - approve of them.

Castiel may have been given life, but in turn he had given himself to them – Harry, Sam, Dean, they were what Castiel lived for.

Dean trades a glance with Sam; in that glace is that realization.

Harry smiles to see it.


	15. Prayer in Please

**drabblewriter: Supernatural, Dean, "You can pray for someone even if you don't think God exists." (on LJ's comment_fic)**

"God." (If there is a God?) Dean begins, his eyes closed tight, he means the word, even if his thoughts betray him. (It's the thought that counts, but for what it's worth he'll use words and actions both).

Dean is on his knees, he hears his heart beat in his ears, he hears the machines he doesn't know the name of, beeping and humming.

"Please help, Cas'..." Dean doesn't look at the hospital bed, where Cas lays helpless and pale. If he opens his eyes, he fears to see the scorch of burnt wings across white hospital sheets and white walls and the gritty grey of the floor. There would be only the body, and Cas - the angel, his friend, would be dead.

"Dean." Sam sounds pained, and Dean knows his little brother believed in God even when Dean didn't (still does not) and knows that Sam had never really understood the bond between his blood and demons, never understood how his brother - simple, loyal, a hunter - had gotten the attention of angels - of this angel in Hell: Castiel. Cas had gotten him out of Hell, by all that was holy and all that he believed there was (monsters, demons, evil) and there was not (God, angels until Cas'...) he - just this once - Dean prayed to be proven wrong.

"He hears." Cas says softly, a whisper to Dean's ears. Dean opens his eyes, knowing the wetness on his cheeks for tears, and yet a grin stretches widely across his face. His relief (if not his belief) is plain to see - and maybe, between God and Dean, it's enough to keep.


	16. Mother's Blood

**r0knr0ll**: Supernatural, gen, Poseidon, On a boat (motherfuckers)

John has a lot of secrets he keeps from his boys, what their mother was, well - that's just another secret he kept. A secret he took to the grave.

His once-wife smiles at him, greeting him as warmly in death as she does in life.

"Am I in hell?" John asks, and she shakes her head, a smile twisting upon her lips.

"Hades rules here." What she does not say, is: and so too do I.

Between them, there is no need for Persephone, his Mary named for the month of May they met, and the blooming seasons of spring and harvest of summer, to say such a thing. Hell is a neighbor to Hades, but here the demons are Underworld gods, not fallen angels, and there is nothing formally human about them. John found out too late, that his Mary was a goddess, and that the demons had come from her when she fought to stay above beyond her granted time.

"The boys?" There are only one of pair of boys for John and Persephone, she sighs and says.

"Safe." And it's like a blessing, and maybe it is.

-

Dean will avoid air travel if he can, it's not that there are too many people, it's just that the logic of it doesn't make sense - metal, flying, flames. It should result in disaster, but it doesn't and it just feels wrong, against the forces of nature.

He never expected to be on a boat, so doesn't know what to expect in his instincts. Sam is very pale and quiet, as they go by sea from Seattle to some island in Alaska with a hole to hell in it.

The sea isn't as calm as it should be, but nothing bad enough to worry about sinking, or capsizing. Sam gets sick overboard during the night - and that's when things get weird. The sea bubbles and churns and Dean really worry about a whirlpool, because that what the waves are doing - circling, but not outwardly, he breaths in relief - outward.

Something is coming up.

"What did you do?" Dean snarks at Sam, while he still can.

"Oh, hell, I don't know." Sam's eyes flick to him, worried, and in those dark eyes (Mom's eyes) is knowledge of everything they could be facing, the monsters of the sea - and they don't really have anything to fight with.

He steps out of the sea, standing on the waves as if its solid.

"I did not know you were of my blood." He-who-is-walking-on-waves says, his hair is as wild and dark as the sea, his beard hands long down his chest. His bare chest, in fact - bare everything.

"Your blood?" Sam says, and his pale skin goes paler still, he looks moonlight white under the starlight.

"Aye, by Zeus's seed and Demeter's womb, you two are begotten by Persephone and a mortal man, is my mind." It's hard to tell by the beard, but he seems to smile.

"No, oh-no, we are not heathen pagan gods! We are hunters, we are the sons of John and Mary Winchester." Poseidon's sigh is like the wind. Sam winches at Dean's words.

"Winchester's boy, do you not know that hunters began by our blood? Were not heroes like Herakles monster-slayers? We mated with mortals to produce you, hunters, heroes, demi gods." Poseidon waves a hand and the waves are still and calm.

"Believe me, or not - but by my blood, I grant to you free and calm passage by the sea where ever you seek to come and go." Poseidon goes back into the depths from which he came, and the boys only watch him go.

"Sam..." Dean begins, fighting a smile.

"What?" Sam's eyes are only for the sea, and the island in the distance that marks there destination.

"Mom's a goddess." She didn't die. Dean doesn't say that, but Sam hears it loud and clear. And he wonders, where a hole to hell would take them - boys born of Persephone's blood.


	17. No Ordinary Movie, XConstantine

**No Ordinary Movie**

**Aillil**:

-Supernatural x Constantine

Prompt:

_Dean doesn't just watch porn or Dr Sexy, sometimes he actually watches good films (bar the (spaghetti) westerns). On a calm night in, the brothers watch Constantine (and discover a great way to take the piss out of the angels and demons : Gabriel, Castiel, Crowley etc)_

_The Winchesters meet John Constantine (after the events of the film) I can't think of a very precise idea apart from the fact that Lucifer should be in there ? I'll think on it (I loved Peter Stormare as Lucifer but Mark Pellegrino is good too)_

0o0o0

The so-called Winchester Gospel, to Sam Winchester, it sounds like the start of a bad joke. Yet there is the proof of it in black and white, cheesy paperback covers in all their glossy glory. So, Sam knows, that it's happened to them – and it makes him wonder, how many other so-called fantasy or supernatural or urban/suburban fantasies are based on the lives of real people?

Sam doesn't really think about it, because his time is taken up by those supernatural monsters trying to eat people; quite naturally Sam and Dean first have to try to stop that. They succeed most of the time, and fail sometimes too.

It's one of those rare quiet nights, where people seem to be doing moral and decent things – and the people who aren't can be swiftly dealt and quietly with by police – but no one is scratching their heads wondering how something strange happened...at least not in the usual places that Sam and Dean look. All is quiet and it's creepy, because this is where people do normal things – and Sam and Dean don't have much practice of the actual act of normalcy between them.

Dean goes for the movies he's missed out on, and Sam takes a break from looking for something that isn't there and joins him on the couch (because Dean may be older than Sam, but he's a bigger whiner about this sort of 'family' stuff). Sam doesn't mind, because one of his best memories is watching cartoons with Dean and Dad.

Sam doesn't pay much attention to the title of the movie, so when the movie starts mirroring their reality a little too close to what they do to be entirely too comfortable – that's when Sam starts paying attention. Dean looks at him, frowning thoughtfully – and Sam takes down that name – that title, and runs it through search engines.

What he finds is a DC Comic character, and a fandom – just like the Supernatural books – about a "fictional character" a working-class magician/occult detective/con man with a smoking habit and a scathing wit and cunning. His 'creator', Alan Moore, even says he's met him twice. It gives Sam chills. He grabs onto a date, 1985 – and the area of London. A birth date of May 10, 1953 too.

"We've got to find him." Sam says, turning to Dean with what he has.

"I'm not arguing here, Sammy. If there's a truth to it – he's got to be a real hellblazer of a hunter." Dean grins, like this John Constantine just might become his new hero if there is more truth to the fiction Sam's found.

Dean looks to the research Sam's done, and bites his bottom lip to see London for a location. They can't get there from the front seat of an Impala, and Dean hates flying with a feeling that makes Dean sick with it.

"So we aren't going to be meeting John Constantine anytime soon, huh?" Dean's tone of disappointment is clear.

"I wouldn't have spoken so soon." Castiel says softly, and Sam shares a strained look with Dean. It isn't that Castiel is spying on them, they know, he just keeps a tight focus on them, and when he just _appears_ like this, like he was here at the start of the conversation and just decided to join in. It takes getting used to – and when you don't want to get used to being surprised (because that could one day be a very bad thing) it does a number on a hunter's nerves. When he appears it's always from the corner of your eye, or the place you checked and thought safely empty of angels but can never be sure about.

"Oh?" Dean asks, as if his body is a tense as a bow. Dean is better at hiding his surprise, better at playing normal. Sam found that, even in college – where everyone is supposed to be new, he just didn't fit. There is, he knows, demon blood in him – and he can act for the host of an angel of heaven – or hell, for Lucifer surely wants him for that reason, but neither is very comforting in his day to day life. They don't quite explain why he is the way he is.

There is a knock on the door, firm and demanding. Dean catches Sam's eyes, and can't help but smile as he gets up to answer. In staggers a couple, one a dyed dark haired man with roots of blond and the other is thin and androgynous, but as Dean helps her drag in the man propping onto the bed – he notes that she is a she. She looks around the room to Castiel as if she knew he would be there, her eyes narrowing.

"Hello, Castiel." She greets, soft and sure.

"Gabriel." Cas says, with a nod toward the Winchester brothers – as if to explain.

"They thought you were dead." Gabriel sneers, and sighs with a look to a bloody John Constantine.

"I am not dead yet, brother… merely a mortal." Gabriel runs fingers through Constantine's hair as if willing the blond roots to grow to a full head of hair. There is a look on that face that Dean would call longing.

"Can you help him?" There is something like pleading in those husky tones, Castiel only nods and approaches to do as asked, kneeling to lay his hands upon the beaten man. He closes his eyes to the confusion upon the Winchester's features.

"Gabriel? _The_ Gabriel? Are you sure Cas? He's a she now?" Dean warily takes a few stumbling steps away from the angel that was the Trickster, and is now apparently not. Gabriel rolls dark eyes, mouthing Dean's words in a mocking and mimicking fashion.

"Yes, yes, and yes. Clearly, Dean – you haven't changed a pity." Gabriel despite Dean's distance shows no inclination to draw away from John Constantine. The angel lingers and looks to him as if fretting; her hand covers his, protective.

"So, how did it happen?" Sam asks, soft and carefully cautious. Gabriel sighs, but her dark gaze does not look from Constantine.

"Well, the Trickster was tricked, you might say, by Mammon – Lucifer's brat. I owed a debt too, and I think I have more than paid for it in pain…I'm mortal now, a woman, and this git kicked me in the face…" It's the tone of one who has said something much the same, over and over, and grudges the facts they face.

Dean looks to Sam, and his lips can't help but quirk – but he doesn't dare laugh in the face of an Archangel, even a one now a moral woman.

"Masochist." John Constantine gasps out, past his own pain. Gabriel's lips quirk and those dark eyes lighten with relief, they hadn't noticed before how tense and worried the angel had been. Castiel looks between Gabriel and Constantine, frowning thoughtfully as he steps to stand beside Dean.

"You know you love me." Gabriel teases, but its plain there is truth too.

"Hey, who's been following who…" John Constantine returns with a smirk. His eyes trail to Castiel, to Sam, and to Dean Winchester.

"Well, well, who are all of you?" At Constantine's question, Gabriel grins with wicked delight.

"My do-goody brother, Castiel – and his Winchester boy-toys." John Constantine raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised at that introduction. He looks to the Winchester brothers with a measuring look, whatever he was looking for he finds, and his smile is sincere and full of a good deal of respect.

"Why did Lucifer once heal you from near-death?" Castiel asks accusingly.

"Frustration…" There is something in the way that Gabriel says it that makes it sound like a sexual conspiracy. Castiel but frowns in confusion. Constantine snickers, patting Gabriel's shoulder.

"Oh, that's good, good to meet you two too, Dean and Sam, real pleasure, in fact. You know, you're quite famous, don't you?" Dean shrugs it off with a half smile, looking almost pained. He doesn't like it, that they are known by people who have never met them. Constantine looks around their hotel room, clearly not impressed with what he deems their set up. It wasn't like they were expecting company, but the usual safe-guards are in place.

"Only in some circles…" Sam protests for Dean's sake, knowing that in those same circles someone would hunt Sam down and kill him like a monster if they knew about his abilities. It had happened only once so far. Sam was careful not to repeat that kind of mistake twice.

Constantine wasn't blind and saw the tension he'd caused by that stray comment.

"I think it best we get down to the business that brought me to your doorstep – what do you say?" Dean couldn't help but return John Constantine's smile.

"You came to the right place!" It was said with the sort of relish one got from a thing about to be enjoyed in the doing. Sam grinned at his brother's enthusiasm.

"Tell us all about it." Sam stated, and John Constantine sat down with them and did just that. When he was done, it was dawn – and one thing was damn sure – they would be too busy to watch movies for a long while yet.

Perhaps it was for the best.


End file.
